


Good Service is Hard to Find

by glittertech



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Late Night Writing, Pre-Slash, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 09:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5412257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glittertech/pseuds/glittertech
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate meeting between Howard Moon and Vince Noir based on Noel Fielding's joke about mechanically skilled chimpanzees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Service is Hard to Find

Howard Moon was on night watch. Perhaps not the most thrilling task to be assigned during an evening drizzle, but it was his very first as a zookeeper, and Howard was determined to do it well. He’d been after this job for quite a few years and getting it was a dream come true.

The application process had been rather scary though. Mr. Fossil ate Howard’s C.V. whole and made him watch. After declaring that it tasted like shit covered in spaghetti sauce, Fossil also declared that Howard was hired. Delighted but a bit upset, Howard wished that his new boss would have stopped to look at his C.V. He really thought he’d hit upon a success with the cheeky Cheltenham and the tight kerning.

Wandering around the zoo wasn’t so bad, in any case. He got to get a feel for the layout of the place without having to ask any embarrassing questions. Howard Moon was a young man of action! He could hoof it all by himself, no problem. It was a bit dark though. And cold. Wet, too. He held his torch tighter. 

Whistling “King Porter Stomp” to himself, Howard walked over to the Chimpanzee Parlor. He thought that the funny names for the habitats were pretty charming. As if a chameleon would ever _actually_ be in a lady’s boudoir. As the first notes of Goodman’s subdued yet swingin’ solo left his lips, the light from Howard’s torch alighted on a tall palm tree. Howard jumped back and yelped not at the tree, but rather at the young man in a ragged Mackintosh holding a rusty moped _behind_ the tree. His blonde fringe was long, covering up one of his nervous, darting eyes. The back of his hair was rather huge, reaching back at least six inches. He was something Howard did not at all expect to see on night watch. 

“Alright,” the stranger said nervously.

“Alright,” replied Howard, not sure of what protocol to enact in an intruder situation, as he hadn’t yet received a handbook or manual.

“What you doin’?” he asked.

“Nothing. What are you doing?” said Howard. 

“Nothing,” replied the other man. Forgetting all he’d ever been taught concerning strangers in places they ought not be, Howard turned his back on the boy behind him. He hadn’t taken a step before he heard the sound of a moped crashing to the ground. Before the initiate zookeeper could even turn around, something hit him in the back of the head, leaving behind a scent like a Dairy Milk bar. 

“Ow!” Howard exclaimed, looking down at the ground for the projectile and seeing what looked like a tiny umbrella. He touched his fingers delicately to the back of his head, feeling a wet substance that he feared was blood. Bringing it to his lips revealed that the projectile parasol not only smelled like chocolate, but was made of chocolate. “Did you just throw a chocolate… umbrella at me?”

“Chocolate umbrella? Come on, it would melt in the rain! You’re not thinking it through! Chocolate umbrella!” the stranger said derisively, ending in a snort. Unfortunately for him, his mac loosened at that exact moment and a dozen or more identical collapsible canopy confectioneries fell around his feet. 

“Yeah, that might’ve been me,” came a petulant little mutter. Howard realized that the boy must have tucked them into his belt and wondered what kind of person thought that rain would melt chocolate but not close proximity to body heat.

“My name’s Howard,” he added, only to break the tense silence.

“I’m Vince!” the no-longer-a-stranger said cheerfully. 

“I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. The zoo’s closed, you know,” Howard said tersely, hoping he wouldn’t get written up for this foolishness. 

“Gimme your number! You work here, right? You can show me around during operatin’ hours!” Vince said instead of a proper response. 

“Have you got a biro?” Howard said without thinking. Clearly, the shady sweet to the skull had knocked out his common sense, because he never gave out his phone number to anyone. Not even his own gran. 

“Nah, I’ve got somethin’ better,” Vince replied. He pulled out a stick of something Howard had seen his mother put on her face and had his hand poised over his bared arm, ready to write. 

“I haven’t got a mobile. This is my home phone,” Howard murmured, grabbing the stick out of the boy’s hand and writing it down himself, gripping that thin wrist. Vince giggled at his touch, apparently ticklish. 

“Haven’t got a mobile? What century are you living in?” Vince asked incredulously, carefully rolling his sleeve back down. 

“One where I can do just fine without being glued to one of those tiny screens, thank you,” Howard said primly, handing back the make-up. Vince rolled his eyes not unkindly.

“I’ll see you around Howard!” Vince said, hefting up the fallen moped. He waved a bit awkwardly, arms wrapped around the vehicle. Howard waved back awkwardly as well, due more to his lack of social grace than a heavy load. He walked away whistling again, a bit more pep in his step. As soon as he’d rounded the corner, he heard a terrific crash, sort of like what throwing a moped over a tall fence might sound like. Howard sighed.


End file.
